


I See You

by kaijuvenom



Category: DCU (Comics), Gotham (TV)
Genre: Ed is a dumbass, Gratuitous Uses Of Codes, Harley Quinn is Ed's Arkham Psychiatrist, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Possible Additional Characters To Be Added, Takes Place A Few Months After 5x11, Unexpected Friendship, it was highly satisfying to ME but idk if anyone will see it that way, its how i wanted to end it so there, its not sad but, letter writing, not sure how to tag the ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-01-15 11:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21252734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijuvenom/pseuds/kaijuvenom
Summary: E. Nygma: obsessive compulsive with split personalities, narcissistic to the point of insecure—childhood trauma contributing to need for approval from authority. Highly receptive to therapy. Rehabilitation likely.I'm hesitating, only to fall. I’m waiting, I'm hating everyone. Could it be you fell for me, or any possible similarity? You never knew me at all, but I see you.





	1. Yellow

Ed didn’t have anything against psychiatrists exactly, he just knew all the tricks. He didn’t like the feeling of someone solving his brain like a puzzle the way he did with everyone else. To contribute, a scarring experience with Arkham’s last psychiatrist hadn’t made him any more anxious to meet this new one. Although he had to admit, Arkham had certainly improved since the last time he’d been locked up. Two guards were escorting him to his psychiatrist’s office, he vaguely recalled hearing her name several times, and it had been something weird. Weird even for Gotham standards, but he couldn’t recall it. The new ‘rehabilitation and humanization’ of the inmates included no restraints and complete solitude with the psychiatrist for those without a history of ‘violence for violence’s sake’, so it made sense that the office he was escorted into was sparsely decorated, the table and two chairs seemingly nailed to the floor. Extra precautions just in case an inmate decided to become ‘violent for violence’s sake’, whatever that meant. 

“Mister Nygma?” 

Ed snapped his eyes up to his new psychiatrist, who gestured to the armchair across from her. She waved her arm at the two guards, signaling them to wait outside the room. 

“Or is it Doctor Nygma? Have you finished your degree yet?” She asked in a tone that made her sound actually interested in his life. 

“Not yet,” Ed found himself answering, even though he hadn’t been planning on speaking at all. “What was your name? It was something like… Quinny, or Quackel, or…”

“Doctor Harleen Quinzel. But you can call me Harley.” She extended her arm out for him to shake, which Ed was pretty sure was against protocol, but he shook it anyway, crossing his legs awkwardly as he sat down. “Remind me again what your doctorate is in? I don’t have it in my notes.”

“Forensic toxicology. And you can just call me Ed.” Harley sounded like she was hiding an accent behind her professional tone, and Ed wondered idly if she was from the hillbilly town just outside of Gotham. He didn’t care enough to ask. 

She nodded, jotting something down on her paper before frowning. “Ed, it says here you have a history of illicit drug use. Is that accurate?”

Ed flinched even though she hadn’t said it in an accusatory manner. “I wouldn’t say _history…_”

“So it’s current, then?” She looked up at him and Ed had the distinct feeling she was making some sort of a joke to mask her poking into his personal life. It was, alas, working.

“No,” Ed muttered defensively.

“Well that would make it a history, wouldn’t it? Isn’t that simple logic? I thought you were the smartest man in Gotham.” 

“Fine. I have a _history _of illicit drug use, it was a very brief chapter of my life and it’s _over _now, so-”

“Did you make these drugs yourself?” Harley’s rapid-fire way of asking questions was the distinct opposite of what he’d expected a psychiatrist appointment to be like, but he didn’t hate it. “Might make it hard to find a job in toxicology.”

“No. I experimented with several different kinds, but I never made any.” 

Harley nodded, scribbling down something else in her notes as she stood up and turned away from him, towards the small counter Ed hadn’t noticed before, where she began pouring two cups of tea. Ed had a feeling this was against protocol too, both her turning her back to him and offering him boiling hot water in breakable and potentially sharp china. 

“And what was the effect you were hoping to achieve by taking these drugs?”

Ed blinked at her as she turned back around, accepting the cup of tea and staring into it like he was trying to read her tea leaves.”Getting high?” He finally said, his expression becoming guarded.

“You experimented with several different types of powerful hallucinogens that negatively impacted your ability to reason, reaction time, and sense of rational thought because you wanted to get high?” She took a sip of her tea, raising one eyebrow tauntingly. 

For some reason, Ed was reminded of Oswald. Whenever Ed would try to hide anything from him, he could see through his bullshit in a split second. “Say my name and I disappear. What am I?” 

An answer for Ed’s riddle was not given, that was one protocol that Harley apparently wasn’t going to ignore: all of the staff had been advised to never participate in Ed’s riddles, because apparently it ‘added to his disillusions of self’, whatever the hell that meant. 

But Ed had found a very clever loophole in that. “Correct! The answer _is _silence.” At least, he thought it was clever. It was the most fun he could have in the hellhole that was Arkham. “And that’s all you’re getting from me on that topic. Silence.”

Harley sighed, temporarily admitting defeat as she moved on. “Well, that creates a nice segue for us. Tell me, when did your interest in puzzles start?”

Ed rolled his eyes, setting his teacup down more aggressively than he needed to as he leaned back in his chair. “When I was a kid,” he said shortly.

“I see. Your parents?” Harley looked up expectantly over her reading glasses. 

“Parent,” Ed corrected. “Mom left when I was little. Or died. Dad never told me, and I never asked.”

“And how was your relationship with your father?” 

“Once, I spent weeks on a science fair project in seventh grade, it was a little robot that could teach itself how to knit by following a pattern I created in code. My dad tripped on it, stubbed his toe, and decided to beat me with it. Gave me a concussion and put me in the hospital for four days. Child protective services in this city was a joke, probably still is. Does that tell you enough?”

Harley didn’t immediately respond, but she wasn’t writing anything down either. “How does it make you feel to look back on those times?” 

Somehow, Ed hadn’t expected to be asked about his feelings and he was caught off guard, choosing to answer honestly. “Angry. Bitter as hell. Grateful that he never actually killed me.” He played with a loose thread on his sleeve. “But mostly I just feel weak.” 

“For not standing up to him?”

Ed scoffed. “Please. I was a socially stunted, obsessive compulsive, scrawny little kid, what could I have done?” He shook his head. “I feel weak because after everything he did to me, I still wanted to make him proud. I wanted him to love me.” 

“It’s a natural feeling, wanting to make your parents proud, especially if that parent is abusive or emotionally unavailable.” Harley didn’t add something like, _you have no reason to feel weak, _because that wouldn’t do a thing to stop the feeling. She couldn’t fully profile Ed yet, but she had a strong feeling his levelheaded brain didn’t operate quite as much on logic alone as he would like it to.

“Yes, well, it shouldn’t linger for so long that I’m constantly searching for validation from authority figures and I don’t feel like I’m worth a damn thing until I get it.”

“It does, Ed. The trauma you went through as a child was never dealt with, and you’re projecting it onto others. A lot of psychiatrists in my position would tell you you’re going about it the wrong way. Gain that approval from authority from something other than crime.” Harley set her cup down, adjusting her blonde pigtails. “After long enough, it would rehabilitate you. You’d live a chaos-free life being a model citizen, but you wouldn’t be healthy. Shifting the letters in the alphabet won’t make an incorrectly spelled word correct, and moving your trauma to something else won’t help you cope with it.

“I don’t want my patients to become slaves to their traumas, I want you to understand it, learn from it, recognize what it is that you can’t let go of that’s making you repeat dangerous behaviors, and work through it.”

“That first way sounds a lot easier,” Ed muttered, not at all appreciating the amount of time Harley was clearly planning on dedicating to poking around in his mind.

“Do you want to be rehabilitated?” 

“This is a trick question, isn’t it? If I say yes in any capacity, that means I’m lying so I can get out of here sooner and I’ll only be forced to stay longer, and if I say no, I’d sabotage my chances of getting out of here even more.”

“Ed, I only want you to answer honestly. I’m not recording this and sending it to some big boss, and I’m not filing any reports on you. These notes are strictly for us, to help you understand yourself. No one else is going to see these.” Ed appreciated the way Harley reassured him like that, making Ed feel safe to talk about whatever was on his mind, or whatever he really did _not _want to have on his mind. 

“I don’t want to be here,” he finally answered, fully aware that wasn’t an answer to the question. He was quiet for a while, hoping Harley would change the subject to something else. She didn’t. “I want to be less reliant on Osw- on- on other people for my self worth.”

“And that need for approval is intrinsically connected to your criminal activity,” Harley finished for him. 

“Allegedly.” Ed was still specifically not answering the question, but at least he was talking. Baby steps.

“We talked about your family briefly, who else has been an authority figure in your life?”

Ed didn’t answer, picking at that pesky loose thread on his sleeve, slowly unraveling the fabric. Harley waited a few seconds before speaking again, trying to engage him.

“You framed James Gordon for murder, didn’t you? Was he the authority figure you were trying to impress? Or was it someone else at your job?”

Ed snorted, shaking his head. “You know, he did actually kill Theo Galavan. Yes, I did frame him for everything else, but Oswald would tell you that Jim killed Galavan. Jim killed him, and Oswald went to prison for it.” That felt like a lifetime ago, when Oswald had stayed at his apartment, Ed protecting him, still going to work at a normal job and coming home to find Oswald had cooked him dinner.

“Was Oswald Cobblepot the authority figure? You tried to destroy Jim Gordon’s life because he destroyed Oswald’s? You wanted to impress him?”

The silence Ed gave her in response was an answer in itself, and she scribbled something down in her notepad. “Let’s talk about Oswald, Ed. You two had a complicated relationship. He got you out of Arkham and made you his Chief of Staff. Then something happened, didn’t it? Oswald disappeared for months, and around that time, you started using hallucinogens.”

“What are you, a detective?”

Harley smiled, shrugging. “In a way, I guess. Feel like talking about that?”

“I killed him,” Ed said. “Or at least I thought I did. But that’s obvious.”

“How did it make you feel, when you killed him?”

Ed sighed, standing up and moving to the small window that looked out to the exercise court for the inmates, his arms wrapped around himself like he was trying to disappear. “I felt terrified. Terrified, guilty, regretful. I started using drugs to see him again, I messed with them and made them more powerful, added different things, to make the hallucinations stronger. More realistic. To see him sooner.”

“But he came back.”

“But he came back,” Ed echoed, pulling his shirt even tighter around himself. “And I- I was so relieved. I was so relieved. Because I finally _knew, _I finally understood what he’d been trying to say when he told me… when he told me that if I killed him, it would change me. He said it would change me because I loved him, and I didn’t believe him. But when I found out he was alive again, I knew he was right, and I was so happy. We were even, he- he betrayed me, and I betrayed him. So I thought we could go back, we could be okay again. But he didn’t- he still doesn’t-” Ed broke off, taking a deep breath.

“He didn’t love you anymore?” Harley asked softly, and Ed turned towards her, his expression a mix between anger and absolute despair. “But you’re friends again, aren’t you? Business partners, at least?”

Ed nodded. “I love him. I always have, but it- it took me too long to realize.” 

“How do you know he doesn’t love you anymore?”

It was such a simple question, and yet Ed didn’t have an answer for it. Oswald had never told him that he didn’t feel the same way about Ed anymore. He’d never pulled away when Ed had hugged him, or seemed uncomfortable being around him. Oswald had literally named his dog after Ed, and Ed hadn’t even put any thought into why. “He’s never brought it up again,” Ed finally answered.

Harley didn’t seem impressed by that. “I don’t know what happened, but from what you’ve told me, it sounds like he told you he loved you and you killed him for it.”

“I didn’t- I didn’t kill him for loving me. But I did- I did kill him _even though _he loved me, so- I guess it’s- it’s not _incorrect_.”

“I’m sure you can guess what I’m about to say.” 

“I’m a dumbass?” Ed asked.

“I wouldn’t have phrased it that way, but… yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Je le flingue, je l’humilie, je le fous hors de ma vie. Je le torture tant que je peux, mais l’amour fait ce qu’il veut de nous. _


	2. Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _ Dear jealousy, you know every part of me, hiding where no one can see. When did you move in with me? This bed wasn’t made for three, I want you to leave. Jealousy, stop confusing me; I am sick of seeing everything deep in shades of green._

Letters from Oswald were one of the only ways Ed stayed sane in Arkham. Or, as sane as he could be while being locked in Arkham. The only other way was Doctor Quinzel’s appointments. She was surprisingly insightful, and she seemed to actually care about Ed’s wellbeing. 

Aside from Harley and Oswald, Ed was left to his own devices, staring at the nearly empty walls of his cell or attempting to formulate a breakout plan with people like Scarecrow and the Mad Hatter. Or the comatose Jeremiah Valeska. Obviously, none of them were much help. Oswald’s letters about his grand plans for the takeover of Gotham’s underworld with all of his associates (including, but not limited to; Cat, Barbara, and both Victors) was slowly doing nothing but making him jealous. He wanted to go home. 

Not that he really had a home. 

********

_Oswald,_

_ I hope this top secret plan of yours succeeds, and I’m absolutely ecstatic to hear about it—whether it be in the papers or in your next letter. I still can’t believe you got Barbara back on your side, I suppose parenthood really can change a person. Although not too much, since she’s still working with you. _

_ Speaking of parenthood, how is Martin? I don’t hear from him very often, he seems to be busy with schoolwork, but he always sends me a drawing with every letter. He’s getting quite good, I’d tack the pictures up on my cell wall Hannibal Lecter-style if they’d let me keep them in here. As it is, I can only have one piece of mail at a time, the rest goes into a box that I’ll get upon my (alleged) rehabilitation and release back into the wild. I word it that way because, as I’m sure you know, we are treated like wild animals here, save for one or two of the employees, one being my brand new psychiatrist. _

_ I’ve been assigned to Doctor Quinzel, and she seems to be the most tolerable of everyone else here. At least she doesn’t treat me like a child or a menace to society. She even lets me walk freely around her office and drink tea (when I say it like this, it sounds like a poor accomplishment, but it’s the best I can get). _

_ Upon reading through this letter, I’ve realized almost all of it reads as if I want you to reply with nothing but pity for me. I didn’t mean it to come across that way, I suppose I have quite a few things to complain about that apparently I don’t have time to cover in twice weekly therapy. Perhaps I should ask for more often sessions, I can make something up about how they alleviate my daily mental suffering or something of that sort. _

_ Adding onto my complaints, I heard Jim Gordon was made police commissioner. I wonder if he knows the mother of his child is running the criminal underground with Penguin? I’d love to tell him. Right before I frame him for murder again. I probably shouldn’t write this in a letter that will be read by security, but whatever. The entire city knows how much I hate Jim Gordon, what’s one more empty threat going to add to my probable life sentence here?_

_ As you can see, I have big plans for when I get out of this hellhole._

_ I hope you won’t mind ifI say something moderately emotional. If you do mind, you can ignore this. I know we have a complicated relationship, but after everything you’ve done for me, I can’t help but feel that we should stick together. Oswald, whenever I manage to get out of here, I want to spend more time with you. As much time as possible, if I’m honest. You’re the only person I can really trust, and I know the last time I said this, it didn’t end well for either of us, but I would do anything for you. I say this now in a less naive way, we’ve both been through so much since then, but my respect _ _and love_ _ and admiration for you hasn’t changed. _

<strike> _Sincerely_ _, _ _Regards_ _, _ _Whateverthehellisanappropriatesignoffinthissituation_ _,_ </strike>

_ Ed _

********

_Ed,_

_ I’m sorry for everything you have to go through for the time being, trust me, if there was anything I could do to make this easier for you, I would. Working with Barbara is certainly an interesting experience, specifically because she brings that screaming baby with her everywhere. On a slightly different topic, yes, Martin is very busy with schoolwork. Getting him to take a break and have fun like a child seems to be a lot harder than it should be. You seem pretty lucky to have a psychiatrist who actually cares about your wellbeing. Out here, we don’t really have much in the way of that. Just like Gotham, to only have one decent psychiatrist in the whole city. Stay with her for as long as you can, you likely can request to see her more than twice a week. Put Martin’s artwork on the section of the wall behind your headboard, it’s a trick I learned for hiding things while there. For anything thicker than a piece of paper, there’s really nowhere to hide it. The GCPD has become even more of a nuisance since they made Gordon commissioner. Next, they’ll be making him mayor, you wait. Week from now and I wouldn’t be surprised if most of my associates joined you in Arkham._

_ Oswald_

********

Oswald’s letter was disappointingly short, and Ed really shouldn’t have been surprised or offended by the lack of care Oswald seemed to have put into it, but it still left a bitter taste in his mouth. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but the line “A week from now and my associates might join you in Arkham” sounded like a promise. As soon as he gave notion to the idea that Oswald might be planning a rescue mission for him and was trying to give him a hint based on that one line, Ed dismissed it. Sure, it was _possible,_ but there was no way Oswald would put that in a letter if he thought it could have been interpreted as a promise to break Ed out. It was a coincidence, and Ed was likely overanalyzing it. He’d let Harley Quinzel get into his head, and she’d brought Ed’s love and admiration for Oswald to the front and center of his mind, now it was all he could think about. 

He hadn’t acknowledged the end of Ed’s letter, and that stung. Yes, Ed had added a line about how Oswald was free to ignore that emotional outburst, but Ed hadn’t expected him to. It felt like a rejection without actually being rejected.But more than anything else he was feeling, Ed wanted to see Oswald. It was so hard to put his feelings into words written on a paper, showing him his feelings would be so much easier. Maybe Oswald had thought Ed was lying, after all, it wouldn’t be the first time. But it didn’t matter anyway, visitation privileges were few and far between for Ed. 

Most of the time, he was only allowed one visitor once a month or less, depending on the guards’ moods. Usually, that visitor was there to interrogate him, and not anyone he wanted to see. Oswald had only visited him once, not that it was his fault, Ed missed him. Insanely. If he wasn’t already insane, the lack of seeing Oswald was going to drive him there. He spent most of his time over the next few days sleeping and forgetting his dreams. He wished he’d remember them, even if they were horrible, to give him something to think about other than what Oswald and Martin were doing, and how much he wanted to see them, to keep teaching Martin ASL, and to maybe finally tell Oswald his feelings. He’d considered it several times while writing his letters, but ultimately decided to be a coward. At least now he understood why Oswald had been so reluctant and terrified to tell Ed his feelings all that time ago, it was scary as hell to say something like that. And to top it all off, Ed had rejected him in the worst way possible. 

Even if Oswald’s feelings hadn’t switched off like a lightbulb, the chances he’d actually trust Ed with anything further than friendship were next to nothing. That realization did nothing for Ed’s mental state, and Doctor Quinzel was exceedingly quick to pick up on it. 

“How are you feeling, Ed?” She asked, gently prying the letter from Oswald Ed had been twisting into nothingness out of his hands and smoothing it out. 

“Right now I’m feeling inconvenienced.”

Harley sighed, shaking her head. She rubbed her thumb over a particularly stubborn wrinkle on the letter as she stared down at it. “This is from Oswald?”

“Evidently.”

She was quiet for a few more seconds. “And… is this letter what’s making you feel… inconvenienced?”

“It’s like he didn’t even spend time on it. Not even separated into paragraphs. It’s like he’s giving up on me.”

“You think this letter is him giving up on you?” Harley looked confused, looking from the letter to Ed, like she was trying to say something to him without saying it, which Ed absolutely did not get. 

“When did he send this?”

He squinted, looking up the ceiling and then back down. “Three days ago?”

Harley nodded, folding the letter and setting it on her desk. She was silent for a few seconds, like she was thinking very hard about something. “Ed, can I ask you something potentially sensitive?” 

“Isn’t that your job?” He mumbled, picking at his nailbeds. 

“Potentially _more _sensitive.” 

Ed shrugged, signaling for her to ask away, because he really didn’t care at this point. 

“You have two distinct personalities, and, correct me if I’m wrong, but you aren’t entirely in control of which side of your personality you can access at any given time, are you? Do you know what triggers each personality?”

“Saying his name. Puzzles. Riddles, sometimes.”

Harley nodded, before looking back down at the letter, folding it in half and placing it on her desk. “I’m sure you know that’s why we’ve all been told not to engage in your riddles.”

Ed nodded, sighing. “What’s your point?”

Harley took a long breath before leaning closer to him, lowering her voice. “Tell me a riddle, Ed.”

His eyes snapped up to hers, and he stared for a second before he seemed to have comprehended what she’d said. “What has many keys, but can’t open a door?”

Harley considered it for a rather long amount of time before answering. “A piano.” 

Ed nodded. The conversation went on like that, Ed spouting off riddles and Harley (mostly) successfully answering them, until she finally achieved what she’d been trying to do. 

It was getting one of the hardest riddles yet correct that made Ed’s expression change, like he’d suddenly snapped out of a trance. He sat up straighter, a smile growing on his face. “You’re trapped in a concrete room with a wooden table and a hand mirror. How do you get out?”

Harley leaned back in her chair, jotting down the exact number of how many riddles it took before Ed’s personality switch. “I don’t know, E- Riddler.” 

“You look in the mirror, you see what you saw, pick up the saw, cut the table in half, two halves make a whole, climb through the hole and you’re free.” The Riddler said all this like he’d said it a thousand times, words flowing out of him at a speed and confidence level Harley didn’t think Ed Nygma was capable of. 

She smiled, nodding. “Clever. Now, I need to ask you something. Everything we’ve discussed these past weeks, will you take any of it to heart? I want you to be reliant on no one but yourself for your happiness. You only need to make yourself proud, no one else.”

There wasn’t much of an answer from the Riddler, he only stared at her, like he was trying to process every single one of her possible motives and the meaning of her words, before he finally nodded. “I’ll remember it.”

“Well, I think our time here is up, we’ve certainly had quite the breakthrough, haven’t we?” She asked, the look on her face unreadable as Ed stood up. 

“I’d say so. Thank you, Doctor Quinzel.”

“It was my absolute pleasure.”


	3. Pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Like every rule that you breach, you know the origin is you. From the god above to the one I love, the only thing that's true; you’re the origin of love. Your love is air, I breathe it in and out, dear. Don’t know it’s there but without it I’m drowning._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> really thought id have a viable "i have school and a job i cant write shit until summer" but then coronavirus yeeted away all my excuses,,,, california do be on dat mandatory lockdown tho huh,, rip me now i have to write i dont have anything else to fuckin do

Breaking out of Arkham was still as easy as it had always been, and The Riddler made sure to leave a little note for his exceedingly helpful psychiatrist, thanking her for her insight. He still didn’t quite understand why she’d let him leave, but he had no plans to stay and question it.

The letter he had left her read as the following: 

_ ilgbr vexvm fxvrm aesoc qavwd lyovj rypmo anfqr aehvo uicis dsnnj uubks hgqzz pirgs vwzio qrohd cetwu llnck urlpk vnxzu pungd nhyqq xxbdu slvyd drnne hoblv gebvq dubue mkert zilae xyqdk takcc caqeq ouzme jfayf tlewu xdsnd ivkln zkryb sxvwz klplx kbqm_

which, when translated using a cipher code in which the letter _a_ equals the letter _h, _read as:

_ bezuk oxqof yqokf txlhv jtopw erhoc krifh tgyjk txaoh nbvbl wlggc nnudl azjss ibkzl opsbh jkhaw vxmpn eegvd nkeid ogqsn ingzw garjj qquwn leorw wkggx ahueo zxuoj wnunx fdxkm sbetx qrjwd mtdvv vtjxj hnsfx cytry mexpn qwlgw bodeg sdkru lqops deieq dujf_

which, when translated using an Enigma machine model M3, read as:

_ y mybb cyii ekh jqbai. xefuvkbbo ybb iuu oek qwqyd, rkj yv dej, y myix oek qbb jxu ruij. ixekbt oek duut q zer, ybb xqffybo fhelytu. yv oek sekbt buqlu co bujjuhi qdt thqmydwi vhec cqhjyd qdt eimqbt iecumxuhu y sqd vydt jxuc, yj mekbt ru cksx qffhusyqjut. jxu hyttbuh_

which, when translated using a cipher code in which the letter _a _equals the letter _q_, read as:

_ i will miss our talks. hopefully ill see you again, but if not, i wish you all the best. should you need a job, ill happily provide. if you could leave my letters and drawings from martin and oswald somewhere i can find them, it would be much appreciated. the riddler_

Whether or not Doctor Quinzel could crack that code, he didn’t bother finding out. Really, it was very easy in Ed’s opinion. The _h _was for her first name, Harleen, the Enigma code was for Ed’s name (obviously), and the _q _was for her last name, Quinzel. Easy as pie. In his opinion, at least.

Ed wasn’t sure where he should go first, it had been almost exactly one week since Harley had pushed his other personality out into the open, and time hadn’t exactly been on his side, so he hadn’t had time to plan that. Not because he had any reason to get out quickly, but because he would rather leave Arkham before his psychiatrist decided aiding in his breakout was actually a bad idea. 

He knew he shouldn’t go to Oswald, if there was anything his few months of therapy from Harley had taught him, it was that he shouldn’t rely on Oswald for his happiness. At the same time, he horribly missed him. Like a goddamn starstruck love interest in a James Bond movie. Ed didn’t want to be the starstruck love interest, he wanted to be—well, to be honest, he wanted to be the Bond villain who was also sometimes the love interest. He ultimately decided to, at the very least, visit Martin, or at least make sure he was okay, and if Oswald happened to be there, then so be it. 

The Van Dahl mansion was… silent. No lights on in the windows, no cars nearthe front walk, nothing. Ed swallowed uncomfortably, creeping forward towards a side window where the drapes were drawn back. It was pitch black. This was clearly a trap. A trap for who, he wasn’t sure, but whoever it was for, he would be the one springing it.He knocked lightly on the window pane, searching for movement in the darkness and seeing nothing. 

Clearly a trap. He snuck around the back, reaching under a flower pot for the key to the wine cellar and unlocking the (really only slightly) hidden door. It was a considerably simple way to get in the house for a mob boss, but Oswald had vetoed Ed’s idea of building a giant maze with deadly traps, so they’d settled on the already-built hidden door to the cellar in the back of the house.

He paused about halfway through the cellar, listening for any noises from above him, but nothing. They must know he was here, whoever _they _were, because there wasn’t one sound, not even the smallest creak, coming from above him. He swallowed, creeping up the cellar stairs and slowly opening the trapdoor, crawling out and into the mudroom. 

There was no one in the house. Nothing. Ed didn’t understand _why _and that disturbed him. Why would Oswald leave his house completely abandoned? Had he moved? Then why were all his things still here? Had he been kidnapped? Without sign of a struggle, break in, or any sort of clue indicating if or when he’d been taken?

Maybe Oswald had somehow known Ed’s plan. He’d had inside information on where Ed was at all times and knew he’d broken out of Arkham. 

He would’ve assumed Ed would come here first. So he left. 

Oswald didn’t want to see him. He didn’t want anything to do with him. All those months in Arkham, the gentle way Harley Quinzel had made Ed realize that he really was in love with Oswald; it was all for naught. He was too late. He was too late to realize he’d been in love with Oswald Cobblepot for years, probably since the first time they’d ever met, and he’d missed his chance. Missed so many chances. So many times when Oswald had opened his heart up, so blatantly given Edward opportunity after opportunity to admit his feelings, and Ed had run out of opportunities. 

So what was he supposed to do now? 

He should leave. Oswald didn’t want to see him, he should respect that. Ed had stayed in Gotham for Oswald, he’d been the only reason he hadn’t taken that submarine and gone far away as quickly as possible. Now, however, there was no more reason to stay, so he didn’t. He thought about going home—paying a little visit to his father, but decided against it after a bit of contemplation. He didn’t think he could leave Gotham, even if he wanted to. Not anymore.

He was startled out of his thoughts by the sound of the front door opening and he dived for cover behind the sofa, hoping he hadn’t been seen. 

“I thought you said he’d be there, boss.”

There was a sigh coming from another person, one that he was able to easily recognize as Oswald. “He should’ve been. I thought my letter was clear enough.”

“Should we send out a team? Maybe hire Zsasz to find him?” 

Ed didn’t hear a verbal answer, so he assumed Oswald had probably shaken his head no, and, based off the door opening and shutting again, dismissed whoever it was he’d been talking to. 

Another sigh came from Oswald’s direction, and the sound of a glass clinking, liquid pouring, and ice cubes splashing into a drink. “I only hope you aren’t off somewhere getting into trouble, Edward,” Oswald muttered to himself, and Ed blinked, trying to combine all the information he had (which wasn’t much) with what Oswald had just said. 

Oswald had been looking for him. They’d gone to find him, they’d gone to Arkham to break Ed out and he hadn’t been there. He should’ve been. He should’ve been there, because Oswald had left a clue in his letter, a clue that Ed had somehow missed. 

… But Harleen Quinzel hadn’t missed it. She’d noticed it immediately, but yet… she hadn’t pointed it out. What sort of game was she playing? Why didn’t she want Ed and Oswald to see each other? 

These were the questions Ed decided he absolutely had to answer before setting things straight with Oswald. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's super short, but, in my defense, its entirely setup for the last chapter


	4. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Green is pretty useful too, but not as deep and dark as blue. Yellow beams its joyful power, but bite a lemon, it tastes sour. All this to say that it’s okay, no matter what life throws at you, I will always love the blue in you._   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit i finally finished it give me a cookie

“Ed.” Harley seemed less than surprised to find Ed Nygma sitting on her kitchen counter, eating her roll of salami. “Hope ya didn’t come for a therapy session, I’m fresh out of juice.” She flopped down on her couch, making a face when she apparently realized she’d sat on something and grunted, pulling a bag of chips from behind her back. 

“Aw, now they’re all smashed.” She frowned, then shrugged and ripped open the bag anyway. 

Ed set down the roll of salami and slid off the counter, taking in a deep, dramatic breath like he was about to make a speech to rival that of a Shakespeare sonnet. Or at least, something that was too important to be said with a roll of salami in his hand. Instead, he just said two words, very quietly. “You knew.” 

“Be more specific, I know a lotta things.” 

“About the letter. About Oswald’s plan. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“If you’d wanted to see it, ya would’ve seen it. That other side of your personality would’ve told you. ”

She was saying he didn’t want to see Oswald. That was ridiculous. He’d spent all that time in Arkham thinking about him, about how he would apologize for never realizing how he felt sooner, beg to be allowed to start things over. Of course he wanted to see him. 

“You don’t need him,” Harley said, and those words took too long to sink in.

Long enough for Ed to cross the room and steal the bag of chips from her and sit down on the chair opposite her. 

“I don’t _ need _anyone,” he said crankily, in a way that very much implied the opposite. 

“Of course you don’t.” Harley’s tone also very much implied the opposite. 

Ed continued to eat her chips with far more aggression than he needed to, sitting on the chair sideways and swinging his legs. “Did you get my message?” 

“Mhm. And speaking of that, I have Martin’s drawings, if you want them.” 

“Keep them. For now at least. I don’t have anywhere to go, so I have nowhere to put them.” 

Harley nodded in response. “Then why’re you here?”

Ed didn’t have a valid answer for that. 

“If ya wanted to see Oswald, he was right there. And yet you came to me, to steal my food, apparently.” 

Yet another thing Ed didn’t know how to respond to. Why _ had _ he gone to see Doctor Harley Quinn when Oswald had been _ right there _in the same damn house as him? Well, he knew the answer to that. But he wasn’t about to express it out loud.

Harley gave him a twinge of a sympathetic smile, standing up and brushing off her clothes. “Stay the night here, get your head on straight.”

“Isn’t that a crime?” Ed was fairly certain he was a known criminal who had just broken out of Arkham, and his psychiatrist allowing him to stay the night at her house without alerting the authorities would be considered a crime. 

“Gonna ask questions or are you gonna take the favor?”

Ed squinted at her, pursing his lips, before deciding it wasn’t worth his time to think about whose side she was on (and which sides there even were, he realized he hadn’t paid much attention to criminal underground politics lately). Once Harley was gone down the hall, presumably to her room, and had shut the door, Edward was left alone to stew in his feelings. 

**“You probably left because you’re afraid,” **Ed’s shadow popped up behind the kitchen counter, wearing a jaunty green suit. 

“Go away.”

It did not, continuing to grin at him with that too-wide smile it always had.

“Fine, if you’re so smart, what am I afraid of? Oswald?”

His shadow shook its head like he was a disappointed parent. “**The confrontation. You’ve never been an ace at emotions, Eddie.**”

Well, that was true, but still, “There’s no need to be rude about it,” Ed shot back, crossing his arms. “Besides, I know what I feel for Oswald.”

“**_But_****, in order to express those feelings to him, you have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being vulnerable. Imagine if he rejected you.”**

Ed chose not to dignify that with a response, staring up at the popcorn ceiling and counting the cracks and water stains. 

“I don’t know if I _ want _to express those feelings,” Ed finally said, less to his other-self (he wasn’t even sure if it was still hanging around or if it had vanished again), and more just to fill the silence suffocating him. 

“All these years, after everything we’ve been through together. I don’t know if I still…” He didn’t know how to express the thoughts in his head, wasn’t even sure what the thoughts in his head were saying. 

********

Harley Quinn was a rarity in Gotham, she cared about people, especially all the people that Gotham didn’t give a shit about, the ones they tortured and hunted, the ones who were damaged by the city and its people they’d only ever wanted to help. She had sympathy for the patients in Arkham, she didn’t inject them with drugs to make them calm and pliant, or use fear to force them into submission. She actually tried to help. She talked to them, learned what they wanted, and helped them on their way with the hope that she may actually have a positive effect. 

That had been her plan with Edward. He’d been through too much already to have to suffer through the horrors of Arkham, and it wasn’t like it was truly going to help him. The only thing that would help was if he confronted himself head on. She (personally, of course, she’d never admit this to a soul for fear of being fired and admitted to Arkham herself) couldn’t care less if he went on his merry way, stealing artwork and performing elaborate bank heists, as long as he did it for the right reasons. 

So that was why she wasn’t particularly phased when Edward left her that letter, essentially offering her friendship and somewhere to go if anyone ever found out she was letting Arkham patients escape. And she wasn’t concerned when he showed up at her house, because it was something she was used to. However far deep down, everyone, no matter what they’d been through, really only wants someone to listen to them. To hear what they’re saying and not saying, and Harleen had always tried her best to be that person. 

She’d been that person for Ed, and she could only hope that she’d had enough impact that he wouldn’t go looking for someone else to solve his problems she’d helped him identify for him. 

He was gone in the morning before she’d left her bedroom, but apparently he’d brewed a pot of coffee and made pancakes for her before leaving. She didn’t know where he’d gone or if he would be back, but she was sure she’d hear about him in the paper at any time in the near future.

********

“Ed.” Oswald’s voice was quiet, breathless, a little rushed and panicky, understandably, considering Ed had snuck into his bedroom in the middle of the night. “How the hell did you get in here?” 

“I know your security guys. Zsasz let me right in,” Ed said, vaguely gesturing to Oswald’s bedroom door as Oswald sat up and turned on his bedside lamp. 

“Right, right.” He rubbed his face tiredly before looking back at him. “You’re not here to kill me, are you?” His tone was joking, but there was at least a hint of real worry in it. 

Ed shook his head. “I’m here to thank you. And to apologize for not being there when you came for me.” _ I should’ve talked to you, I should’ve explained to you what was going on inside my head but even I didn’t know at the time. _

“And to let you know that I’m okay,” he added. _ And to tell you I love you. I think some part of me always will, no matter what. And right now it’s a very large part of me. But I think it’s best for both of us if-- _

“You make it sound like you’re leaving.”

Ed looked away, staring into the old, rather ugly carpeting. “Yes.” 

Oswald sat up straighter, pulling his blankets back and planting his feet on the floor. “Where are you going?” He asked, standing up, leaning on his nightstand. 

Ed didn’t answer. Oswald sighed, taking a small, shaky, step closer. Ed took a half step back.

“How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know,” Ed responded honestly, “tell Martin-”

“I will.” 

“Thank you.” 

They stood in silence for a second. Ed’s hand twitched against his side. _ I want to tell you what’s in my head but I’m afraid if I do, I’ll never want to let you go and I can’t have you with me again. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I wish I knew who I was without you, then maybe I could be someone when I’m with you, but for now-- _ “I’ll find you when I come back.” _ I’ll find you when these voices in my head align themselves and I can be a real person without relying on you. _

“I’d like that.” Oswald smiled, and for a second, Ed wondered if maybe he had heard all of those thoughts he’d just brushed through in his head. 

Ed smiled back, and he was gone, gently shutting Oswald’s bedroom door behind him. He wasn’t sure if or when he’d be back, where he was going, or who he was or would be, but that was exactly what he intended to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is my [twitter](https://twitter.com/kaijuvenom)  
in which i mostly yell about star trek nowadays and also my [tumblr](https://kaijuvenom.tumblr.com/) in which i also yell about star trek,,, but sometimes gotham too. just not as much anymore oops


End file.
